A dear friend sent me a note saying that I would be getting a little surprise package from her, and it arrived the other day. I thought it might be a book or something for the garden, but it turned out to be this beautiful collection of Gütermann cotton thread! I actually have very little of their cotton thread -- I usually buy their polyester variety when it's on sale -- so I am thrilled. I also feel very blessed, too. I don't have many friends, but those I hold dear know me so well.
This is a story that starts out very sadly, so if you're depressed by the holidays you might want to skip the first part. As far back as I can remember I've dreaded the holidays. Being poor, having constant family troubles and belonging to a strict religion made that time of year always pretty unhappy. I just hunkered down and hoped to get through without being yelled at or punished because I didn't do something I was expected to do, like sit in church for hours without moving or making a sound while a priest spoke mass in Latin. Gifts were uniformly disappointing, too. My mother usually gave me dolls or socks or underwear for Christmas. I understand now as an adult that she was doing the best she could, and trying to save money at the same time, but as a kid I'd been told good children got what they wanted for Christmas. I was a pretty good kid, but while my friends received new bikes and cool toys and lots of treats from Santa, I didn't. I thought San
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